Mo Farah: This is my moment, my race – I will not be beaten at the London Olympic Games

Mo Farah recalls his first gold medal at the London Olympics in the 10,000m
and the extraordinary scenes of euphoria that followed his victory the final
extract of our serialisation of his autobiography

It is Saturday, Aug 4. I wake up early and go for a light jog around the village. I do three miles. I don’t see much of Alberto [Salazar, my coach] today. Normally he’s the calmest guy on the planet but you don’t want to be around Alberto on race day. He gets so nervous that he makes everyone else nervous too.

The race doesn’t start until 9.15pm. For the hours leading up to the race I try to keep things as normal as possible. Every athlete has a routine they like to stick to. I like to shave my head – to feel my scalp smooth, the refreshing sense of slapping cold water over it. Then I’ll listen to some tunes.

Depending on my mood, it’ll be some Tupac or maybe Dizzee Rascal. If I want something a bit more chilled, I’ll put on some Somali music. The older stuff from the 1970s and 1980s has a really good beat to it. People sing about the country, about the history and the culture. Then there’s K’naan, the rapper and poet who recorded Wavin’ Flag, the official song used for the Fifa World Cup in South Africa.

All morning long I’ll be drinking water. After lunch I grab a couple of hours’ sleep. Then I wait.

Three hours before the start of the race, I head down to the stadium and make my way to the warm-up area. The atmosphere around here is tense. Everyone is stretching, jogging, watching the races unfold live on TV. Waiting for the call to head out to the track.

Neil Black [my physio] is waiting for me in the warm-up area. I lie down on the massage table and say, “Make me feel good, Blackie”. Neil just laughs. He knows what I’m like. He understands my body and the sheer hell I am about to put it through. At the end he claps his hands and says, “You’re good to go. Now get off my bed”.

As I wait for the race to begin, I watch Jessica Ennis take the gold medal in the women’s heptathlon. “Jess has just got a gold,” I think. Now it’s my turn.

Twenty minutes before a race, I’ll normally drink some coffee to wake me up. So now I have a shot of espresso – only nothing happens. I want to be pumped up for this race, so I take a second espresso. As I make my way out to the stadium track, I feel this massive caffeine high come on. I’m buzzing. My hands, my legs – everything is shaking. Then I stick my head out through the tunnel leading from the warm-up area to the track and the crowd goes mental. People are screaming and waving Union Jacks and shouting, “Come on, Mo!” There are banners with the words ‘GO MO!!!!’ written in big letters. Each person shouting out pumps me up even more. And I’m already pumped up to my eyeballs from the caffeine.

At that moment, I am more pumped than ever before in my life. My hands are trembling. My eyes feel as though they’re about to burst out of their sockets. As I approach the track, I do a couple of strides and put my hands up to wave to the crowd. The whole stadium just erupts. The crowd is unbelievable. The noise is deafening – like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

I try to search out Tania in the crowd but I can’t see her. Too many people. Everywhere I look is this mass of noise and colour. It’s the biggest day, the biggest moment of my life. Everything has been leading to this. I’m looking around and telling myself, “This is my moment. This is it”. I am ready to race.

The gun CA-RACKS. “S---!” I think. “The gun’s gone. It’s started.”

Early on the going is slow. I just focus on doing my thing, starting from behind and taking it as easy as possible. Telling myself, “Work your way through the pack. Don’t make any mistakes”. All I’ve got to do is hold level with the lead group of runners and put myself in a strong position heading into the last few laps. Then I can kick on for the big finish.

In the corner of my eye I can see that Greg Rutherford is doing well in the long jump. He wins the gold as I pass by on another lap. The crowd is whooping and cheering. Eighty thousand pairs of eyes now turn to watch the climax of my race. At the 5,000 metres point, Tadese, the half-marathon world record holder, suddenly puts a big surge in, upping the pace. Then Kipsiro goes down. The field scatters. I slip back alongside Galen [Rupp, my training partner]. He tries to go with the pace. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell Galen. “Don’t go with them. Chill.”

Galen eases off. He settles alongside me towards the back of the pack. Gradually the two of us start picking off the other guys, working our way through the group. Just like we’ve trained to do under Alberto. With four laps to go, we close in on the front runners. We’re still working our way through. “Yeah, yeah,” I tell myself. “This is good, I’m where I need to be.”

Now the other guys start trying to get rid of Galen and me by pushing the pace. The race gets faster. But I’m calm. I know I’ve got my sprint finish. As long as I’m near the front with two laps to go, I’m golden. This is my race. My time. I’m not going to lose to anyone. Not here. Not in front of my home crowd, with everyone in the country cheering me on. I wait for my moment to kick on. The last lap rings out.

Now I kick as hard as I possibly can. I surge past Bekele and take the lead. The crowd goes ballistic. I didn’t think it could get any louder than before. But I try not to get carried away. I still have a job to do, there are still guys to take care of. Instead, I try to use the energy of the crowd, digging deeper and deeper as I veer into the final turn. I’m in a lot of pain. I’m running flat out. It hurts. At last, with 200 metres to go I manage to open up a gap between me, Tariku Bekele and the rest of the chasing pack.

The crowd is roaring and driving me on. I’m not looking behind. I’m not looking at the clock or the screen. I don’t know where Bekele is or where Galen is. I focus everything on the finish line. “Keep going,” I tell myself. “Keep going.”

It’s only once I cross the line that it hits me. I’ve won.

My immediate reaction is, “What?!? I’ve won!” I look across my shoulder and see Galen coming through. On the home straight he takes silver. I don’t know what I’m doing at that point. It’s a mad, crazy blur. I think back to training with Galen in the mountains in Albuquerque. Alberto had predicted that we would finish first and second in the Olympics, but he wasn’t sure in which order. Somehow, standing here now, watching everything unfold, it doesn’t seem real.

I see Alberto in the crowd. I run over to him and give him a hug. “Go and enjoy it!” he shouts above the electric noise of the crowd. There are almost tears coming out of my eyes. It’s an emotional moment for me – for all three of us.

I’m still struggling to believe what I’ve just achieved. The crowd is shouting my name. Someone chucks me a Union Jack. I wrap it around my shoulders like a cape and pose for some pictures. I do the Mobot, but honestly I’ve got no idea what I’m doing any more. I’m just like, “Oh my days! I’m the Olympic champion. Have I really won?” Winning gold at the Olympic Games, in the city I call home, is one of those things that takes a long time to come to terms with.

Rhianna comes running onto the track. Then Tania joins her. The three of us together, after a month away. Tania’s stomach is huge [the twins are imminent]. Her doctor didn’t want her to be here. I give both of them a big hug. Sharing this moment with them both is the best thing ever. The sacrifices they have made too . . . Tania is telling me, “Go and enjoy it!”

I’m telling Rhianna, “Come jog with me, one lap around the track”. And Rhianna’s plugging her fingers in her ears and shaking her head and saying, “No, no! I’m scared, dad!” It’s so loud it is literally scary.

I head off on my lap of honour around the track. I don’t know where I am. I just see this huge wall of people stretching out before me. I enjoy that moment. I enjoy it like you wouldn’t believe.